


Big Trouble in Little San Francisco

by DC_Derringer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Strippers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DC_Derringer/pseuds/DC_Derringer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has to go undercover as a gay stripper to lure out a monster. Oh, and Castiel has to pretend to be his boyfriend, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Trouble in Little San Francisco

Tuesday

“We’re going to need a list of the men working Friday night,” Dean said sourly. He was all done up in his Fed suit, looking the part, but less than enthused about their case. Trying to kill Lucifer had no new leads, so to keep them occupied, Sam made him drive all the way to San Francisco saying that there were some suspicious deaths involving strippers. What he had neglected to mention was that said strippers were all gay men.

So Sam and Dean were in The Cowboy Corral, talking to the manager about the most recent victim, Richie Bilks. The man looked hassled and pulled the same old complaint that he’d already talked to the police. Dean smiled charmingly out of habit and was surprised by how suddenly helpful the man became. 

“Some of the boys are here if you need to interview them in person,” the man said. “I’ll get you contact info for the rest.”

As he went through his filing cabinet to compile the list, Dean gave Sam a look. He was still annoyed that Sam had lied just to get him on the job. Sighing in surrender, Sam excused himself to talk to the men who’d been working with Richie the night he died. 

“You think it was the Meat Grinder?” the manager asked, interested as he handed Dean the employee list. 

“We’re investigating all possibilities,” Dean said. 

“You better catch that son of a bitch. He’s bad for business.”

Newspapers were blaming the deaths on a serial killer. So far, there had been three victims in the past month and Meat Grinder was the sensationalized name everyone used. It came from the way the victims were torn up from the waist down, leaving them like ground up hamburger. 

The first victim was Christian White. He’d worked a Friday night, was reported missing the following day, then found dead in an alley a few blocks away from the club. Initial reports said he was attacked by wild dogs. But two weeks later, Joe Milano had also disappeared and ended up the same way. A week later, Richie Bilks was victim number three.

~

“Richie worked Friday night, didn’t show up for his shift Saturday, and was found dead on Sunday morning. None of his coworkers noticed anything strange, and neither did his boyfriend who stopped by. No enemies either,” Sam said, sighing from the lack of leading information.

“Maybe it is just a serial killer,” Dean said, sifting through the police files and tossing the latest one towards Sam. “Latest report says he might have used a wood chipper.”

“That he dragged into an alley, turned on without a sound, didn’t leave blood splatter, and then left without anyone noticing?” Sam shot back, exasperated.

“Or it’s a monster that targets gay guys and eats their legs,” Dean said, giving Sam the same look. “I think we would have heard of something like that before now.”

“There’s something off here,” Sam said. “Let’s check out Christian White. We haven’t talked to his boyfriend yet.”

~

“Did Christian have any enemies? Sure.” Christian’s boyfriend, Adrian, sat in his living room in a mess of half-packed boxes, surrounded by wilted bouquets and sympathy cards.

“We had a restraining order on his father. That jerk-off actually hired guys to harass us. They’ve broken into the apartment, stolen our mail, they even roughed me up once just down the street.”

“Family dispute of some kind?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, Christian’s dad is Julian White,” Adrian said, but when Dean and Sam gave him blank stares, he continued. “He’s that religious nut always in the paper saying fags are going to burn in Hell. He’s probably ecstatic about what happened to Christian.”

“Do you think Julian had anything to do with Christian’s death?” Sam asked.

“I thought it was that serial killer,” Adrian said, confusion and anxiety suddenly flooding his eyes.

“We’re exploring every possibility,” Dean said, smiling, though a little more carefully this time. “Please call us if you think of anything else that might help.”

Dean and Sam thanked Adrian for his time, and left the apartment, sharing twin looks.

“OK, so dad sounds suspicious,” Dean said.

“Yeah, you thinking black magic?”

“Hard to imagine if he’s religious. But let’s check him out tonight.”

~

Julian White lived alone in a townhouse just outside of San Francisco. Along with a disowned son, he also had a deceased wife, and no other close relatives. All he had to do during the day was fester in his own hatred.

As the former owner of a security firm, he had easy access to hired muscle. Now he devoted most of his time to his religious mission. He spoke at rallies and debates, arguing the religious taboo of homosexuality and the need for it to be rooted out of San Francisco to save it from its own rot. In some circles, he was quite popular.

Dean and Sam arrived at the house late in the afternoon and rang the doorbell a few times, but no one answered. 

“Maybe he’s not home,” Dean said.

“His car’s here, and the lights are on.”

“Maybe we should let ourselves in,” Dean said, reaching for his wire cutters and lock picks.

Once the alarm system was disabled, and the back door unlocked, Dean and Sam crept in carefully, looking for Julian, clues, or maybe some occult paraphernalia that he happened to leave out in the open. 

Quickly, they cleared the first floor, but found nothing and continued up the stairs. About halfway up, they were both assaulted by a familiar smell. No longer worried about being quiet or cautious, they followed it into the master bedroom. There, they found Julian White in his bed, torn to shreds like the three other victims.

Covering his nose and breathing through his mouth, Sam cracked a window to get some fresh air in while they continued their investigation.

“Dude’s been dead, what, two, three weeks you think?” Dean asked, also breathing through his mouth.

“Looks like it,” Sam said. “But why is he a victim? He doesn’t fit the profile.”

“And if he’s a victim, who’s the killer?”

Baffled but intrigued by the case, Sam and Dean continued their search, checking the bedroom for any clues. Julian White was rich enough for fine wood paneling, top line electronics, and even a fireplace, but he couldn’t afford anyone to miss him after being dead for two weeks.

“Got some glass here,” Dean said, crouching down by the hearth. From the larger pieces, Dean could tell it had been a jar of some kind, with odd designs scratched into the sides, possibly a kind of writing, but one he didn’t recognize. Looking around, he found more shards of glass on top of the mantle next to a picture of Julian’s deceased wife. “Looks like this jar exploded,” Dean said as he collected all the pieces.

Strewn across Julian’s desk were countless books, which Sam looked through carefully. Among the pile of bibles and religious texts, one thing stuck out; a book of Malaysian folklore. The book was old and looked well used, with some of the pages dog-eared. Immediately suspicious, Sam started reading.

“Polong,” Sam said after several minutes, snapping the book shut and holding it up for Dean to see.

“What’d you call me?”

“It’s a spirit servant from Malaysia. You summon it by putting your blood into a marked glass jar,” Sam said, pointing to the shards of glass Dean had found. “Once summoned, it will follow any command, even to kill people.”

“OK, so Julian summons the thing, but why is he dead?”

“You can only keep control of the polong as long as you feed it.”

“More blood?”

“No, semen.”

“Bet Mister Fags-Are-Going-To-Hell didn’t want some monster sucking his dick,” Dean said, making a face. “So it doesn’t get fed and eats its master?”

“Looks like. But the book says that if a polong’s master dies, it just keeps following the last order, feeding once a week to stay alive.”

“Once a week… then that means Friday it’s going to kill again. Does that book tell us how to gank it before then?”

“The polong can be killed with fire,” Sam said, sounding like he was quoting directly from the book. “But only when it manifests physically. It only manifests when it’s feeding.”

“Great,” Dean said. “Now we have to find the one gay kid in the haystack this thing’s gonna munch on.”

Wednesday

“We need to narrow down the field,” Sam said, spreading the police reports out on the table in their motel room. “Who’s going to be its next victim?”

“There is sure to be a pattern if you look hard enough,” Castiel said, suddenly appearing in the motel room with Dean and Sam. As usual, their startled glares went unnoticed.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said. “I don’t suppose you can track down a polong?”

“Not unless it is manifested. That only happens when it’s feeding,” he said. 

“Well, thanks for all the help,” Dean said, sarcastically. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“You have told me on other occasions to not be a stranger,” Castiel said, the phrase awkward on his tongue. “I took this to mean I should check in with you when I am not otherwise occupied.”

“Can’t hurt to have extra help,” Sam said. “Maybe you can figure out the next victim.”

Castiel looked over the police files Sam had spread out, and took particular interest in the head shots of the three victims from before their deaths. He kept glancing between the pictures and Dean, brow furrowed in concentration.

“All of the victims look like Dean,” Castiel finally announced.

“They do not,” Dean quickly denied, but Sam took a closer look.

“No, he’s right. Like, basic stuff, light brown hair, green eyes, athletic build-”

“And freckles,” Castiel pointed out.

“And freckles,” Sam said with a slight grin. “The polong definitely has a type it likes, and you know what that means.”

“What? Oh no,” Dean said with a long drawn-out groan. “I am not doing bait.”

“C’mon, Dean. Bait is so easy, and we’re never the type.”

“You wouldn’t be jumping on this so quickly if it liked long-haired sasquatches!”

“What is wrong with playing bait?” Castiel asked, trying out the new phrase awkwardly.

“I’d have to pretend to be a stripper, Cas. Like, taking off my clothes and wiggling my goodies for a bunch of perverts. And there is no way that is going to happen.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, and considered that for a moment before nodding. “It would be much better if the polong went after you than a civilian. You are much more formidable.”

“Exactly!” Sam said, glad someone was backing him up. “We wouldn’t want any civilians getting hurt, now would we Dean?”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean groaned, banging his head down on the table for good measure.

“No time for pouting, Dean. You’ve gotta get job hunting. I’ll help you get dressed.”

“Why the hell do I need your help getting dressed?”

~

Dean didn’t want to know where Sam got it, but he was wearing a shimmering, skin tight purple button-up. His hair was filled with goop to make him look like a douche, and he even had glitter. But no amount of teasing Sam for even having glitter made up for the fact that he was the one out trolling strip clubs for a job. Sam had told him to look his prettiest so he could charm a manager into hiring someone with no experience.

Smugly, Sam offered to stay at the motel and do research on other potential victims that would fit the profile. That way, they could make sure Dean was the only tasty morsel on the menu that night. 

“Are you sure that’s all of them?” Sam asked as he leafed through the photographs Castiel handed to him. He’d told the angel to scan the city for any men that resembled Dean and had the same profession and proclivities as the other victims. For Sam, it would have taken days of computer research and in-person intel. Castiel took five minutes.

“Yes, there are only seventeen other men in the city that are gay strippers who match Dean’s physical appearance. I have their pictures, names, and places of work.”

“Great,” Sam said, really grateful that they had Castiel working with them. “Now we just have to make sure Dean is the only one working on Friday, and hope the polong will find him appealing.”

“Have you considered what to do about the boyfriend part of the pattern?” Castiel asked.

“Boyfriend?” Sam asked.

“Every victim’s significant other was at their place of work the night they were killed. I suspect this is how the polong was able to tell that the victim was homosexual. Are you going to take on the role if Dean is able to get a job?”

“Me? Be Dean’s…” Sam looked horrified and slightly ill at the suggestion. He couldn’t even bring himself to be impressed that Castiel had put another piece of the puzzle together. “That’s just… no… I can’t…”

“Then I will do it.”

Barely recovered from the idea of pretending to be Dean’s boyfriend, it took Sam another few moments to respond. He opened and shut his mouth just trying to find the right words.

“You, uh, want to pretend to be Dean’s boyfriend?” Sam finally ventured.

“Yes,” Castiel said, plainly.

“You realize you’d have to hold hands and maybe kiss?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, again, very plainly.

“You don’t have a problem with that?”

“No.”

Sam eyed Castiel suspiciously, while Castiel stared back blankly, cocking his head ever so slightly. Finally, Sam’s eyes widened and he stood up so quickly that his chair fell over.

“You like Dean!”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Though it’s a bit stronger than just ‘liking’ Dean. I believe that’s a term used by pre-pubescent humans to express a confused casual interest. My love for Dean is much more profound.”

“Does Dean know about this?”

“No. And I admit I had ulterior motives for coming to assist you on this case. I planned on confessing these feelings.”

“That… might not be such a good idea,” Sam said, trying to be as tactful as possible. He picked up his chair, and gestured for Castiel to sit with him.

“Do you think I should wait until after the hunt? I suppose it might be distracting.”

“I’m not sure if you should confess at all,” Sam said quickly. There was no delicate way to put it. “I mean, you’re a dude.”

“I’m an angel,” Castiel corrected.

“In a dude’s body,” Sam insisted.

“I fail to see what this has to do with telling Dean I love him.”

“He might not take it well,” Sam said soothingly. “I mean, Dean doesn’t like men, so I don’t want you to get hurt-”

“Why do you say Dean doesn’t like men?” Castiel asked, cocking his head curiously.

“Because he doesn’t? Haven’t you noticed all the women he has sex with?”

“And men.”

“No,” Sam said, resolutely, like he was scolding a puppy.

“Yes,” Castiel insisted, determined to make his point clear. Sam paused and stared at Castiel, surprised and a little confused himself. 

“What exactly makes you think Dean has had sex with men?”

“I’ve touched his soul, Sam. There isn’t anything I don’t know about Dean.”

Sam’s jaw slowly dropped. He thought words were going to come out, but they didn’t. It was fortunate that breathing was automatic since he probably would have forgotten while his world view suddenly shifted.

“Wha…” Sam tried. “Why the…. When did he…?”

“The first time was when you left for Stanford,” Castiel said casually, oblivious to Sam’s distress. “Though you shouldn’t blame yourself for that. I think it was very liberating for him, especially when your father allowed him to hunt alone. He really discovered a lot about himself and his personal interest in-”

“Stop!” Sam said, covering his ears in case any mind-searing details were about to be unveiled. He could barely cope with what Dean did with women, and all of this was a little too much. Sam slumped back in his chair, stunned.

“So, how should I confess to Dean?” Castiel prompted, oblivious to the world rocking news he just delivered to Sam.

“That son of a bitch,” Sam said mulishly. He was quiet for a moment, thinking. “OK, here’s what you’re going to do…”

Thursday

Dean knew he got by on his looks for a lot of things, quick coffee refills at diners, getting out of speeding tickets, easy lays. But he never thought he’d wished himself a little less attractive than when he was sitting in the manager’s office at Bare Boys. The manager, who insisted Dean call him Captain, was giving Dean that special kind of leer that Sam said he used on women in bars. But he’d checked the mirror and he was definitely not as creepy as this guy.

But Dean smiled back as charmingly as he could. He’d already been to three strip clubs that morning, and Christ were there a lot of gay strip clubs in the greater San Francisco area, but none of them wanted to hire him. Not enough experience. But, though he was loath to admit it in this situation, it seemed his pretty looks were finally going to get him somewhere.

“You’ll have to start working tonight,” Captain said. “Just cocktailing, and our choreographer Jack can help you come up with a routine. You can dance, right?”

“Sure thing, Captain,” Dean said, trying not to sound sarcastic when he did.

“Great. Then I’ll see you tonight. Oh, and here’s your cocktailing outfit,” Captain said, tossing Dean a small plastic bag bearing the Bare Boys logo. “Large, right?”

Dean nodded, and then looked in the bag. He kind of wished he hadn’t and walked out the door.

~

“Still no luck?” Sam asked when Dean returned. He could barely contain his good mood after he finished plotting with Castiel, whereas Dean walked in looking both dejected and miserable.

“No. I got a job,” Dean said, though he didn’t sound too happy about it. “Starting tonight.”

“Great! And you’ll be working tomorrow too?” Sam asked.

“Yep,” Dean said.

“So what’s wrong? I thought you’d be a little more excited.”

Dean frowned at his brother, eyed the tiny plastic bag he was holding, and then tossed it into Sam’s lap. “That’s my uniform,” he said.

Sam eyed the bag curiously and then tipped it over onto the table. When he saw the contents, he couldn’t help but laugh loudly, doubling over at the tiny black leather shorts, bow tie, and shirt cuffs. There was nothing else.

“I hate you,” Dean said, while Sam tried to catch his breath.

“You’re gonna hate me more in a minute. Me and Cas found another link between all the victims,” Sam said, pausing for effect. “All of them had boyfriends at the club the night they were taken.”

“Great,” Dean said, throwing his arms up in the air with frustration. “So bait’s screwed. Now what?”

“It’s not screwed. A fake boyfriend should work.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam, confused, and then his face slowly changed to horror. “I am not pretending my brother is my boyfriend. I don’t care how many people die.”

“Not me, idiot. Cas is going to be your boyfriend.”

“Cas?” Dean asked, gaping at Sam with exasperation. “In San Francisco’s version of Sodom and Gomorrah? There’s no way he’ll agree to that.”

“The story of Sodom and Gomorrah is a gross misrepresentation of heaven’s stance on homosexuality imagined by mortal men to reprimand behaviors they didn’t agree with,” Castiel said, having suddenly appeared behind Dean.

“Cas, you do realize you’re going to be in a place where men are taking their clothes off, right?”

“You once took me to a place where you pay women for sex,” Castiel said, not accusing, but making a point.

“Yeah, but when you’re my boyfriend, we’d have to do like, stuff, you know?” Dean said, as vaguely as possible. A blush crept up his neck as he tried not to say exactly what sort of ‘stuff’ two men would be getting up to in a gay strip club.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Sam instructed me that we should hold hands, gaze into each other’s eyes, kiss, and perhaps engage in over the clothes touching.”

“Sam! What the hell have you been teaching him?” Dean asked, glaring at Sam. Sam just shrugged and gave Dean an unconvincing smile. “This is a terrible idea. There is no way anyone will believe Cas is my boyfr-”

Dean was cut off by Castiel grabbing the front of his shirt and tugging him forward with inhuman strength. A protest formed on Dean’s lips, but was sealed away by Castiel’s insistent mouth. Dean froze, his arms tensed in mid-air like he was about to fend off an attack. A warm tongue pressed against him, and Dean’s instinct was to let it in, but only for a moment before Castiel pulled away.

“It would be more convincing if you didn’t freeze up like that,” Castiel said, his face so close to Dean’s that his breath gusted over his lips. Dean stared at him in a daze, unable to find words, but with a niggling desire to lean in closer and try that kiss out again.

“Well, I think that’s all settled,” Sam said awkwardly. Watching his brother get kissed by a man hadn’t been on his to-do list for the day, or ever. “I’m going out to make sure Dean’s the only one working Friday night. You two, come up with a back story.”

Castiel beamed at Sam as he left, mouth still tingling from kissing Dean. He wondered if he’d be able to convince Dean they needed to practice, just so he could taste him again. But he had a feeling that might be a little too devious, even though Sam had been very encouraging about that.

“All right,” Dean said, clearing his throat and trying not to think of the feel of Castiel’s over warm lips against his own. “We’ll keep it simple. Say we’re from up north and moved down here together a few weeks ago…” Dean started working out a believable story in case anyone asked. Castiel listened attentively, memorizing every detail.

~

That afternoon, Dean returned to Bare Boys to start his training, come up with a dance routine, and then work a cocktailing shift that night. So far, the fact that he was allowed to wear his own boots was the only highlight of what was looking to be a long and terrible night.

“Watch one more time; one two, hip, twist, three four, back down the catwalk. This is pretty standard, Dean,” Jack said. He was the choreographer, a young man with a dancer’s body who was unimpressed with Dean’s moves and not afraid to say so. “Maybe if you take your clothes off fast enough, no one will notice you have no rhythm. Take five.” 

“Thanks,” Dean grumbled, hopping off the catwalk and adjusting the costume they’d thrown together for him. It was a half assed cowboy outfit and it was riding up his ass crack, but when he complained about that, Jack just reassured him that he wouldn’t be wearing it for very long. It wasn’t that reassuring.

“I don’t know why you want to work in a strip club if you can’t dance,” Jack said, pouring himself and Dean a glass of water.

“Gotta pay the bills somehow, and waiting tables pays shit. Me and my boyfriend just moved here and we want to get a nice place, you know?”

“He mind you taking off your clothes for money?”

“Nah, he’s OK with it. Wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.” 

“Last thing you need is a jealous boyfriend getting you fired,” Jack said and finished up his water. It seemed like their break was just about over. “So, tomorrow night, you’ll do two performances… assuming you don’t get booed off the stage during the first one,” Jack said with a teasing smile. “Between performances you’ll be cocktailing in your uniform, and you’ll also be available for lap dances.”

“Lap dances?” Dean asked, panicked.

“Management takes a percentage, so you can’t turn ‘em down. Just try not to look too cute while you’re working, and maybe no one will ask for you.”

“Great,” Dean grumbled. “Hey… So like, is it OK if my boyfriend comes by? I promise he won’t be jealous or stuff. He just wants to be supportive on my first night,” Dean said, flashing a charming smile, full intensity. Jack rolled his eyes, but nodded.

“He still has to pay cover at the door, buy his drinks, and there is absolutely no fucking allowed in the dressing room. Don’t think we won’t know, because we will,” Jack said, his look suddenly very stern.

“Right. No fucking,” Dean said, quite certain that wouldn’t be a problem.

“OK, break’s over. Back on the catwalk. You need all the practice you can get if you want to impress anyone,” Jack ordered. Dean sighed heavily, trying to get into the mood to wiggle his butt and take off his clothes.

~

Dean didn’t get back to the motel until three in the morning, more exhausted than he was after a long hunt. Jack had put him through his paces, and then he’d had to hustle all over the club cocktailing. His skin felt tacky where he’s spilled a tray of shots on himself, and he had fifty bucks in his pocket from tips, minus what he’d had to pay out from the spill. He was tense after being on guard all night, plastering on a smile while trying to keep his butt away from too-friendly groping hands. The few times a patron did manage to cop a feel, he’d fought back every urge to punch the guy in the face and get fired before they could even put the plan into action. 

Dean flopped into bed without showering and promptly fell asleep. The next night would be even worse. He’d have to do the same thing all over again, but he’d be dancing, and Castiel would be watching. Somehow though, the thought of Castiel watching him didn’t really seem like the worst of it.

Friday

Early Friday afternoon, Dean woke up to Sam finishing his lunch and looking over the police files. Next to the pile was a brown paper bag holding Dean’s lunch and without getting out of bed, he reached for it, pulling out a cold cheeseburger.

“What’s the word?” Dean asked with his mouth full.

“Sabotaging the careers of a few strippers,” Sam said, pulling out a few head shots of men that looked just a little bit like Dean. “How was work last night?”

“Ung,” Dean said, as though that would explain everything. “I am never going to a strip club again. The guys in there? Skeevy. Don’t they know I’m smiling because I get paid? I don’t actually want them touching my butt. This whole experience is making me rethink my life so far. Was I like that in strip clubs?”

“So I’m going around to some other clubs and getting them closed on health violations,” Sam said, wisely changing the topic. “You should spend the day with Cas. Try to get pheromones on each other or something. We’re not sure if the polong hunts by scent or what.”

“Are you telling me to make out with Cas all day?”

“Those are details I don’t want to know about,” Sam said. He stood up from his seat, already dressed in his best impression of a state health code official. Gathered up the files, he headed out the door.

Dean finished his food, and then hopped into the shower. When he finished, he stepped out with only a towel wrapped around his waist, and was surprised to find Castiel sitting on his bed waiting for him.

“Hello, Dean,” he said. 

“A little privacy, Cas?” Dean said, digging through his duffel to get some clean clothes.

“Sam said we should spend time together to intermingle our scents.”

“I’ll bet he did.” Dean turned around while he pulled his underwear on underneath his towel. Even with his back turned, he could feel Castiel’s eyes riveted on him, and it was a little unnerving. 

“Perhaps I should wear some of your clothes. I don’t think a business suit would be appropriate attire for a strip club,” Castiel went on while Dean continued getting dressed.

Dean rolled his eyes, but grabbed a beat up pair of jeans, and an old t-shirt that he didn’t care what happened to. He thrust them into Castiel’s arms and went back to dressing. When he looked up again, Castiel was naked, holding each article in his hands, and staring at them curiously. Dean’s breath caught in his throat and he had to swallow a few times before he could speak.

“Pants on legs. Shirt on torso. This isn’t brain surgery, Cas.”

Castiel nodded, wondering if he could get Dean to dress him. It’d be nice to have Dean’s hands all over him, even if he was doing the opposite of what he wanted. He didn’t think he could get away with it though, and carefully put the clothes on as Dean had instructed.

“We don’t have much time before I have to get back to the club,” Dean said, checking his watch and cursing that he had another dance practice with Jack before his shift started. The little turd had a sharp tongue and put Dean through a harder work out than most hunts did.

“Aside from having anal intercourse, I’m not sure what two homosexual men do with each other,” Castiel said plainly.

Dean stared blankly, astonished and a little perturbed. He wondered if Castiel had picked that up on his own, or if Sam had been having some fun educating him earlier, at Dean’s expense.

“Why don’t we just watch some TV?” Dean said after a long pause. Sitting on the couch, he turned on the TV, trying to find something on in the middle of the day that wasn’t soap operas or a Lifetime movie of the week.

“Your kiss was very stiff yesterday. No one will believe we are dating,” Castiel said, sitting down on the couch next to Dean so that their legs were touching. “I think we should practice.”

Dean stared at Castiel with a surprised, blank stare. Sam must have set this up, and Dean was going to get him back once this hunt was over with. In the meantime though, he couldn’t help thinking about the kiss Castiel had given him the other day, and how he’d wanted to continue it. The feeling hadn’t abated, and Dean wondered if he could go to hell for lusting after an angel. He decided he didn’t really care.

“Yeah…” he said. “Maybe we should.”

It was Castiel’s turn to be surprised. His breath caught as Dean leaned in slowly and pressed their lips together. It was a light press at first, just a gentle touch, but then Castiel opened his mouth and his tongue darted out. Dean parted his lips in reply, meeting Castiel’s tongue with his own. When they touched, Castiel let out a soft, breathy moan into Dean’s mouth, and pressed forward eagerly.

When Dean broke the kiss, Castiel’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes deep lidded, his breath coming in quick little pants. Altogether, it shouted ready and willing to Dean and he couldn’t help but respond. He also couldn’t help but realize that Castiel wasn’t acting, that his response was earnest. Startled by this realization, Dean reached up to touch Castiel’s face.

“How long’s this been going on?” he asked, smoothing his thumb over Castiel’s stubbled chin. Castiel opened his eyes, still kiss blown and dilated, and gave his head a little tilt. After a moment, he looked away, finding the fibers in the couch very interesting all of a sudden.

“For some months,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know how to tell you, or if I should.”

“So you make up a lead about me needing a boyfriend just to get a little action?”

“No!” Castiel said quickly. “That part was true. Just… a very fortunate coincidence on my part. Are you angry?” Castiel asked, finally lifting his eyes back up to Dean’s, an apologetic look in his eye.

“Naw,” Dean said with a drawl, letting himself be drawn into Castiel’s big, blue eyes. Leaning in closer until they were sharing the same air, he added; “Surprised, but kinda flattered, really.”

Castiel smiled, worry ebbing away. He leaned in to close the distance between them for a kiss, and this time, they were both relaxed and natural. Dean reached up to caress Castiel’s face, cradling it with his callused hand. He pressed his tongue against Castiel’s mouth, begging for it to open. With a sigh Castiel let Dean in, and they kissed languidly. Their tongues tangled slowly as they explored each other, their hands wandering with idle curiosity.

Slowly, Dean pushed Castiel backwards, nestled down in the lumpy cushions and pressed under Dean’s larger frame. Castiel went back easily, and curled his fingers in Dean’s hair, not letting him get away from their kiss. 

Dean reaching for the hem of Castiel’s t-shirt finally earned a surprised gasp, but nothing more as he watched slide his shirt up, inch by inch. With each new swath of exposed skin, Dean laid a slow, suckling kiss on Castiel’s chest, tasting him, and learning the feel of him. 

Castiel shuddered, sighing with each touch, slowly coming undone under Dean’s knowing mouth. In turn he reached out, his touches tentative and curious, unsure what to do. He slid feather light hands through Dean’s hair, then ran them down to his shoulders, feeling the muscles play and pull under Dean’s shirt. More confident now, Castiel plucked at Dean’s buttons, wanting to touch and see skin. 

Dean stilled, allowing Castiel to undress him, looking down at him before shrugging out of his shirt. Bared to their waists, Dean leaned in again, pressing his naked skin to Castiel’s. Castiel’s breath hitched at the contact and he shifted up on instinct, grinding himself against Dean. With a heated smile, he ground down against Castiel, rubbing them together.

A full, throaty moan worked its way out of Castiel’s throat as he leaned up to claim Dean’s mouth again. Dean gave in readily, kissing and grinding against him while they huffed and panted into each other’s mouths. Castiel was hot beneath Dean, writhing and wiggling, letting out little gasps with each touch. The noises escaping his lips were almost words, but Dean couldn’t catch their meaning. With a few more stuttered gasps, Castiel was done, shooting off in his pants, and making a mess. He squirmed as Dean slid against him, wringing him out and making his over stimulated body shudder.

“You look good like this,” Dean said, beaming down at how wrecked Castiel was. His hair was mussed, his shirt open, and the damp spot spreading in the front of his jeans as damning evidence. The flush on his skin was slowly fading as Castiel caught his breath again and sank deep into the couch.

“So do you,” Castiel said, eyes darting over Dean and his obvious wet spot. He wished he’d watched Dean as orgasm overcame him, and seen that sensation overwhelm his body. But he assured himself he would have opportunities in the future.

“Wanna move this to the bed?” Dean asked.

Castiel’s eyes darted over to the bed longingly, his appetite whetted by their fumbling on the couch. He’d waited an awfully long time for something like this to happen, and here Dean was offering it up so easily, eagerly even. It was with a great deal of effort that Castiel shook his head. In a blink, he was dressed and clean again.

“You need to get to work soon,” Castiel said, doing the same favor for Dean by straightening and cleaning his clothes. 

“Work?” Dean said, momentarily forgetting the reason they were in San Francisco in the first place. But then he glanced at his watch and his eyes widened. “Shit! I’m going to be late.”

Dean rushed off of the couch and hurried around the room grabbing his uniform and wrestling his boots on. Castiel sat up casually and watched as Dean got ready to leave.

“Come around nine, OK? My first performance is at half past. There’re some VIP tables near the catwalk. I’ll see if I can get one for you,” Dean said hurriedly, and Castiel nodded. Dean was just about to rush out the door, but he strode back to the couch and gave Castiel a deep, hard kiss. 

“We’ll do more of that later, too,” Dean said, leaving before Castiel could say anything else.

~

Castiel showed up at Bare Boys at exactly nine o’clock wearing Dean’s clothes, wondering what it would be like to watch Dean dancing and taking off his clothes. Castiel entered the club tentatively, barely able to get the fake ID Sam made for him out right side up. Inside, the club was dark, but garishly lit over the bar and the catwalk. Currently, there was a young man dressed up as a fireman, though most of his clothes were already off, and a bunch of dollar bills had collected at his feet. Uninterested in anyone else, Castiel looked away, scanning the room to find Dean. When he saw him, he stared.

Dean was pretty much naked. Even when he was wearing a towel after showering, he was more covered. Castiel wondered at the purpose of the small elastic bowtie that Dean occasionally tugged at or the starched white cuffs floating around his wrists. What was the point of either if Dean wasn’t wearing a shirt? And then those shorts. Small. Tight. Black. A millimeter shorter, and they wouldn’t be able to contain him completely. The bulge of his cock actually fell lower than the bottom hem of the shorts, forcing the eye to linger. 

Castiel stared for several moments, and then startled when Dean caught his eye and smirked. In short order, he was striding up to Castiel, who was still hovering near the door and couldn’t peel his eyes away from the wide expanses of Dean’s naked flesh.

“Perv,” Dean said, but endearingly enough and coupled it with a quick kiss. “You like my uniform?”

“Yes,” Castiel said simply, taking that as an invitation to admire it. Dean laughed, and then with his arm around Castiel’s waist, led him over to a small table directly in front of the stage. The firefighter from before was finishing his routine, all smiles and a light sheen of sweat as he sauntered off the stage and back behind the curtain.

“I’ll be on in a few minutes,” Dean said. “Order a few drinks, but sip them. It looks weird when you gulp whiskey like water.”

Castiel nodded and watched as Dean walked away, uncertain whether he looked better coming or going. When another young man in uniform came by, Castiel ordered a whiskey, drinking it as slowly as he thought was necessary. By the time he finished his first drink and had ordered another, the lights were turning low, and music with a deep, throbbing beat started to play. The plastic flooring of the catwalk lit up, and a spotlight flooded the back curtain. A few more seconds passed, and when the curtains finally jerked back, there was Dean.

Castiel accidentally swallowed a whole ice cube, and had to force it down his throat with his grace. Once it was down, he watched Dean strut up the catwalk. He was wearing a very historically inaccurate cowboy outfit with a hat, open vest, assless chaps, and a red paisley thong that highlighted the bulge between his legs. He had a big grin on his face, and Castiel finally understood the phrase lying through your teeth. Despite the fact that Dean was smiling, Castiel could sense the anxiety in his body, the increased heart rate and sweat production, and the intense feeling of exposure he was experiencing.

However, none of the patrons seemed to notice. While Dean sauntered down the line shooting off plastic cap guns, the audience cheered and cat-called. Their eager eyes ate up his body, and when he started shrugging off his vest, dollar bills started fluttering onto the stage. 

At the end of the catwalk, Dean slid his hat off and leaned down to tease the audience. He dipped his hat onto someone’s head, and playfully swatted them in the face with it. But when someone stuck a dollar into the front of his underwear, he shot up so fast he almost fell over. He laughed it off, and made his way clumsily over to the other side of the stage, but didn’t crouch down to flirt with anyone else.

Overhead, the music kicked up a notch, and Castiel saw Dean’s smile falter as his hands went to the waist band of his chaps. The crowd knew what was happening and started cheering, louder and louder while Dean walked up and down, fingering the waistband teasingly. Finally, with the loudest crescendo, Dean jerked his hands, and the chaps came flying off, tearing away at the seams and leaving him in nothing but a red paisley thong and his cowboy boots. And then he started dancing.

Castiel didn’t know a lot about dancing. He thought the sort of courtly dancing from hundreds of years ago had been pretty, and ballet was surely exquisite. He’d been confused when rock and roll became popular, and even more so when it turned into punk. So he didn’t know a lot about dancing and what made it good, but as he watched Dean wiggle and gyrate on stage, especially that spinny thing he did around the pole, he at least understood what he liked. 

As the music ended, Dean was all nervous smiles as he bent to collect his money while he backed up toward the curtain. Once Dean had ducked back stage again the lights went up and the regular music came back on. A few minutes later, back in his cocktailing uniform, Dean headed back to Castiel’s table. He walked quickly past a group table who whistled at him and tried to grab his butt, ignoring them. Sinking into the chair next to Castiel, Dean grabbed his whiskey and gulped in down in one tilt.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to do that,” Castiel said once Dean finished.

“Special exception,” Dean said with a heavy sigh as he let his head drop down to the table. “I can’t believe I have to do that again later.”

“I thought you were very… good,” Castiel said, wanting to be sure that was the right word for what he’d felt about Dean’s dance. The crowd had been very excited, and Castiel had certainly liked it, in a very specific way.

“Perv,” Dean said. Again, it was light and affectionate, and just as he was about to lean in to kiss Castiel again, Jack approached and coughed to get Dean’s attention. Dean stood up quickly and grabbed his drink tray, hoping he wouldn’t be accused of slacking.

“You’re wanted for a lap dance. Despite your appalling performance, someone thought you were cute.”

“A lap dance?” Dean said, panic rising up his throat. “C’mon Jack, it’s my first night.”

“Lap dance or go home, up to you,” Jack said, unaffected by Dean’s panicked face. Immediately Dean straightened up. He couldn’t afford to lose his job that quickly when they needed it to finish the case. Castiel eyed Dean worriedly.

“Sit tight,” Dean said. “Order another drink. I’ll be back in awhile.”

“What’s a lap dance?”

“It’s a… private dance. Just me and one of the customers. I’ll be in that room back there,” Dean said, just a little dodgy as he pointed to a door at the back of the club framed in billowing curtains and covered in glittery paint.

“Are you going to have sex with one of the men here?” Castiel asked, his voice suddenly possessive. 

“No!” Dean said quickly. “It’s just a lap dance. No touching allowed, I promise!”

Castiel gave a slight nod, somewhat relieved, though he could sense that Dean was tense. He was given a light, parting kiss, and then he watched as Dean went to the back. Castiel kept his eyes glued there, unmoving, until the door opened again.

Castiel tensed in his seat as he watched Dean reenter the club, shoulders drooping, and head hung low. Jack had walked out with him, and had a short conversation. Dean nodded resolutely and headed straight for the bar. He grabbed a serving tray, and starting working the tables. For a few minutes, his smile was tense and forced, but eventually it smoothed out and became more genuinely charming.

Jack came over to Castiel’s table to pick up his empty glass and ask if he wanted another drink.

“What happened to Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Gave a crappy lap dance. The customer complained,” Jack said nonchalantly. “No offense? But your boyfriend is a shitty dancer.”

Castiel did take a little offense at that, but decided to keep quiet about it. “Dean isn’t going to get fired, is he?”

“For one bad dance? Nah. But he better hope he doesn’t get any more requests tonight.”

“He may have to go into that room again?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah, anyone can buy him for a lap dance.”

“Anyone?”

~

“Two beers and a rum and coke,” Dean said to Jack, sidling up to the bar. “Have you seen Cas?”

“I think he went to the bathroom,” Jack said as he handed off the drinks. “Oh, you got another request,” Jack went on, pointing to the door at the back of the club. 

“What?” Dean asked, suddenly stricken and too distracted to remember that Castiel had no need to go to the bathroom. “I can’t go in there again, Jack. I’ll get fired.”

“If you don’t go in, you’ll get fired anyway. Just, do your best. Maybe this customer will be more understanding.”

Dean grumbled, dropped off his drinks, and then headed to the back. Inside, there was a long hallway and a number of doors. Dean was directed to the third, and with his head down, he headed in.

“Look, I want to apologize, but this is my first night, and I really suck at lap dances,” Dean said as soon as the door shut behind him.

“I think you dance very well, Dean,” Castiel said. As soon as he spoke, Dean’s head shot up and a huge sigh of relief flooded out of him as he sank back against the door.

“Cas! Am I glad to see you,” Dean said, striding over to Castiel who was sitting in the middle of the room in a pleather armchair looking very pleased with himself. “Jack let you buy a lap dance from me?”

“He let me buy all of them. Although he said I can’t do it again, so we must finish this case tonight.”

“Oh, we’re finishing this tonight. No way I’m doing any more of these.”

“Perhaps you should practice,” Castiel said, a little coyly. “If we can’t finish the job tonight, you will have to work another week, and we can’t risk you getting fired for performing badly.”

“You just want me to dance for you,” Dean said, eyeing Castiel suspiciously. But he did draw closer to stand between Castiel’s casually splayed legs. Castiel gave a shy smile and nodded, leaning back in his chair so that his inner thighs brushed against Dean’s legs.

“I don’t fully understand the concept,” Castiel said. “Why would someone pay so much money when they can watch you on stage for free?”

“Because on stage, I don’t do this,” Dean said, his voice dropping to a lower octave as he leaned into Castiel’s personal space and gyrated his hips bare inches away from him. Castiel reached up to touch Dean’s hips, but Dean slapped his hands away. “No touching,” he said, and pushed Castiel’s hands firmly to the arm rests.

“This is very frustrating,” Castiel growled, leaning closer to Dean’s body heat, but not getting the contact he wanted. “I want to touch you.”

“After work,” Dean said cheekily. He reached up to ruffle Castiel’s hair, leaving it in a mess that Castiel didn’t bother to straighten. “I will definitely get fired if I have sex in the champagne room.”

“If we are successful tonight, will we have sex?” Castiel asked.

“We’re doing that whether we’re successful or not,” Dean promised. Castiel smiled and tilted his head back for a kiss. Dean leaned down to oblige, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. It opened after only a moment, and one of the bouncers popped his head in.

“Time’s up,” he said with a smirk, eyeing the two men tangled up on the chair.

“We’ll finish this later,” Dean promised. Then he got up and headed out to get back to his tables and prepare for his second show of the night. Castiel waited a little while longer, calming down before he returned to the bar. 

Saturday

Two in the morning rolled around without further incident. Dean stumbled his way across the catwalk again, got groped a few times while working the floor, and made out with Castiel for a bit in the private room without any of the bouncers catching on. He’d had worse pre-hunt regiments in his life.

But Dean’s shift was ending and even though he could still taste Castiel on his lips, his senses were slowly warming up, straining toward the perfection that kept him alive as a hunter. As he changed clothes, he could filter out the sounds of the club around him; the electric music, the raucous customers, and the chit chat of the employees. He was looking beyond what he could usually see, eyes darting automatically to the shadows around the club.

In each case, the boyfriends had left before the victim did, heading home while they closed up. Castiel had left when the club closed to the public, but Dean knew he was floating around outside somewhere, though not too close in case he spooked the polong. He could be there in a dash in case Dean needed him. And he also knew Sam was nearby, patrolling the alleyways he would have to pass through. Finally, he had a bottle of lighter fluid and his trusty lighter in his coat pocket, one of the greatest weapons against the supernatural that he’d ever found. 

Whistling softly, Dean sauntered out the back door, the sketchy dark one he was told not to use because it wasn’t very well lit and there was a serial killer on the loose. He fumbled distractedly with his phone while jangling his keys as he walked down the street, heading for the bus stop that he told everyone was only a few blocks away. 

Dean made it three blocks, cutting through dark, empty parking lots, and down another dark alleyway before he felt a soft prickle against the back his neck. He rubbed it, and the skin felt hot to the touch. With his hand in his pocket, he turned on his phone and dialed Sam to let him know the polong was there. He could hear the faint ringing, and then Sam’s muffled voice from his pocket; “Got you.”

Dean continued down the alley, trying not to grin, or tense up, or in any way alert the polong that he knew what he was doing. He felt another brush against his neck, firmer this time, almost like a hand, and he tried to look spooked on purpose, rubbing the back of his neck to stave off the sensation.

Far off in the distance, Dean heard the rumble of the Impala. Sam had tracked him by the GPS on his phone. That meant they were within shouting distance, and that’s all they needed. Something supernatural had picked up Dean’s scent and he was really hoping it was the one they were after. He didn’t have time to kill two monsters in one night. 

Another touch against Dean’s neck, like a grab, made him stumble. So, reacting how he thought someone who didn’t know what was going on would, he wheeled around.

“What-What the hell’s going on?” Dean yelled while he looked wildly around the alley. Really, he was searching the shadows. Accounts were sketchy on the polong. No one usually survived, but black shadows showed up in all the lore, so Dean’s eyes went there, looking for any sort of movement and finally, he saw it.

It was like smoke gathering, jagged sharp edges and black as jet. It sounded wet as it gathered, slurping, sucking sounds filling the air and making Dean’s skin crawl. Dean struck out at it, but his foot sailed right through, disturbing the smoke momentarily before it gathered again. Dean cursed, and then cursed harder as the smoke rushed forward and slammed him against a wall. For a moment, he thought he saw stars, but it was two little pinprick eyes floating at waist height. 

The smoke was growing denser and a thicker, wetter blackness gathered together until Dean could make out a bulging, oversized head with long, wet teeth. Spindly little arms with long sharp claws reached out and boxed Dean in so he couldn’t escape. As the smoke gathered, it gained weight and solidity, and Dean realized he couldn’t push it off.

“Huuungry….” the monster gurgled, voice raspy and weak. Dean could see its wispy body, a collection of ribs and spine and rattling bones that fluttered in the night time breeze.

“You’ve been cut off,” Dean growled, reaching into his pocket for the lighter fluid and his lighter. A quick flip of the cap and the monster was doused. Another second, and Dean would have it lit up and this thing would be gone. But the polong had other ideas. It flailed and clawed at Dean until he dropped the lighter under a nearby dumpster. 

“Damnit!” Dean shouted, but it was too late. He had the wind knocked out of him as the polong pinned him to the ground. It grew heavier, its body dripping and squelching as it slithered over him, tearing at his clothes. Dean kicked out against the weight, but the polong didn’t respond. It ripped Dean’s pants to shreds and streaks of blood ran down his thighs where they caught his flesh.

“Fuck! Sam! Cas! Little help here!” Dean yelled, struggling as the polong opened its mouth, long, sharp teeth dripping and ready to sink in and leave him in a pile of meat and bone. 

“Cas!” Dean yelled as the polong snapped its teeth. He watched with horror but just as the points touched his skin, the instant they pierced, it went up in flames. Fire shot through the polong’s entire body, forcing it to jerk back and let out a shattered scream while it burned. 

Dean slumped in relief in the pile of ash and sludge left behind, realizing just how close he came to having the bottom half of his body chewed off. While he remembered how to breathe, Castiel appeared, his sudden arrival sending up swirls of ash.

“Cutting it a bit close there Cas!” Dean yelled.

“The polong did not fully manifest until its teeth touched you. Any sooner would have been futile.”

“Any later and I would have been dead!”

“That is why I combusted it with holy fire from the inside. Ordinary fire would have been too slow. It is no wonder humans have such a hard time killing this monster without casualties. The timing would be very difficult.”

Dean stared at Castiel, immediately impressed, and even more so when he realized that even if Sam had arrived, he’d still be dead. A grin spread across his face, anger fading away just as quickly as it had flared up.

“Dude, you’re awesome,” Dean said.

“Thank you,” Castiel said, smiling. “Can we go home now?”

“Yeah, Cas. We can do that,” Dean said with a smile, but then he winced. “But first, how about a quick fix up?”

Castiel nodded and touched Dean’s forehead. The remains of the polong disappeared, and all Dean’s wounds were healed and cleaned. As a bonus, even his clothes were put back to rights.

“I’m gonna catch Sam up. I’ll meet you back at the motel, OK?” Dean said. Castiel nodded and disappeared, and Dean went to find his brother, tell him what he missed, and somehow subtly tell him to go get his own room for the night. He headed down the alley, and caught Sam as he was running up.

“What happened? Did it get away?” Sam asked, looking over Dean who looked completely fine.

“Monsters don’t get away from me,” Dean said cockily. “Me and Cas took it out. With holy fire. Cas is totally awesome.”

“Oh,” Sam said, trying not to sound too disappointed that he missed all the action. Besides, curiosity was killing him to know if Castiel’s plan worked. “So I guess the undercover stuff with Cas was convincing?” Sam asked as they walked back to the car.

“Did you know he had a thing for me?” Dean asked, eyeing Sam suspiciously and remembering some of Castiel’s odder phrases, the ones clearly aimed at making him uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Sam admitted smugly as they got to the car and climbed in. “But I only found out yesterday. Right before I found out you like dudes,” Sam said, snapping that last sentence out and glaring at Dean.

“Wait, you didn’t know?” Dean asked, looking at Sam with surprise.

“Of course I didn’t know. You only bring women back to our rooms!”

“Well, I’m a gentleman. Women don’t like to fuck in truck stop bathrooms,” Dean said demurely.

“I’ve never heard one disgustingly detailed conquest about a man either,” Sam said as further evidence. “You’ve never been shy about telling me every nasty thing you do with women.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to hear about me gargling men’s balls, but hey, if you want the details…”

Sam socked Dean hard in the arm and earned himself a slug in return. He was lucky Dean was driving or it would have ended up a full on wrestling match on the floor.

“I cannot believe you’ve been bi all these years and you never told me.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t realize it. And people call me the stupid brother.”

That got Dean another punch in the arm.

~

As soon as Dean and Sam got to the motel, Sam headed for the front office to book a separate room. Grinning victoriously, Dean headed for the motel room where he’d told Castiel to wait. Eager as he was to get inside, head full of ideas, he wasn’t expecting to find Castiel lounging on the bed and wearing nothing but Dean’s cocktailing shorts.

“I’m starting to appreciate my uniform more,” Dean said. He closed and locked the door behind him after hanging the Do Not Disturb sign. “Gonna gimme a lap dance?”

“No,” Castiel said, sitting up, reaching for Dean, and pulling him onto the bed. “There’s no touching allowed in a lap dance. I want you to touch me.”

“Happy to,” Dean said, pulling off his clothes. He thought about dragging it out, making it a proper strip tease, but Castiel had already seen him perform twice and he didn’t want to waste time. So his clothing flew to the floor in a messy heap. Castiel watched eagerly, just like he had in the club. But this time, once Dean was naked, Castiel reached out for him, hands slow and gentle as he explored Dean’s body.

Now that they weren’t rushed, or watched by the staff at Bare Boys, Dean took his time. First, he leaned in for a deep, languid kiss. He’d been saving it up all night, and Castiel leaned into it with a soft sigh. 

Dean moved his hands lightly over Castiel’s body, wherever his skin was already bared, and reveled in the heat radiating off his body. He was like a skin-soft furnace meant to keep Dean warm. Dean followed hands with lips, leaving wet, sucking kisses all over, tasting and exploring. With each touch, he listened to the sounds Castiel made, and loved the way his body moved. 

After dragging it out as long as he could, Dean dipped his hand between Castiel’s legs and found the hot bulge tenting those tight leather shorts. Castiel made the sweetest sound yet and Dean wanted to hear more. With nimble fingers, he worked open the tight button and short fly, and Castiel groaned. 

“Dean…” he whined, voice low and breathy. He jerked his hips up into Dean’s hand, wanting more. “Take the shorts off. They’re too hot.”

“Glad to,” Dean said, tugging the leather off of Castiel’s long pale legs. His skin was warmer and damp with sweat. It was something Dean had always loved about men, the deep, rich scent of them. Men were unapologetic in their smell, not covered up with fruits and flowers like women. Eagerly, Dean bent his head, pressing his face between Castiel’s thighs to inhale deeply.

Castiel stiffened, gasping as Dean touched him so intimately. He splayed his legs, on display for Dean, open to scent and taste and touch how he pleased. He shivered under the soft touches, and then there was the feeling of Dean’s tongue, first against his sac, then along the length of his shaft. Dean tongued the thick, throbbing vein underneath all the way to the tip and worked his tongue into the slit, husking out a sound when he tasted Castiel. 

“Dean…” Castiel moaned, Dean’s name nothing more than a whimper escaping his lips. Just that name – his name – said so much to Dean. He knew he couldn’t drag it out much longer. He pulled away, breaking contact only long enough to get lube from his bag. Then he was back, settled between Castiel legs all business and know-how. He dipped his fingers between Castiel’s cheeks, found the tight knot and brushed it gently with the tip of his finger. 

“This OK, Cas?” Dean asked, hoping the answer was ‘yes’ because he really didn’t want to back off.

“Dean,” Castiel said sternly. “I’ve been waiting months to confess to you. Please hurry up.”

Dean laughed but pushed his fingers in quickly, making Castiel gasp loudly, surprised by the sudden sensation. Eyes closed, Castiel gave into the feeling, every soft moan and cry encouraging Dean as he worked his fingers in and out. Castiel spread his legs wider, pushed against Dean’s fingers, eager and wanting Dean on top of him.

“Dean,” Castiel murmured. Dean was starting to love the sound of his name on Castiel’s lips, pleading for him, panting, husky, and deep throated. He reached out for Dean, wrapped long arms around his shoulders and tugged him into a kiss. Their mouths clashed and bit, both hungry for more.

Dean slowly pulled his hand away, slicked down his cock, and guided it between Castiel’s cheeks. He paused, savoring that just before instant of having someone for the first time, revving himself up on anticipatory energy. And then he gave into it, sank deep into Castiel, giving them what they both wanted.

“Oh, Dean… Dean,” Castiel hissed, each word a soft, breathy pant as Dean thrust into him, deep and slow. He clung to Dean, tugging him close, connecting them at mouth and groin to make a circuit of pleasure. They groaned into each others’ mouths as they rocked together, finding a rhythm to match the need in their bodies. 

The pace increased as their bodies crashed together, making the mattress springs shriek, and the headboard slap loudly against the wall. Dean grunted and growled, and Castiel keened beneath him, giving into the sensation and letting it out through his throat. It was everything Castiel had dreamed about and even more than he had ever imagined. The feeling overwhelmed him, and he suddenly came. He cried out with surprise as the heat unfurled within him and splashed across his chest, body spasming and tightening against his will. He clung to Dean, the only steady thing around him, and rode out the waves of his orgasm as Dean continued to move, dragging it out, making it good.

Dean followed soon after, the spasms of Castiel’s body milking him and begging for his own orgasm. His hips shuddered and shook, and he thrust into Castiel until he finally spilled. They moaned together, both shivering in the aftershocks, blindly seeking out the other’s mouth. They kissed languidly as they continued to twitch, come cooling on Castiel’s skin. When they broke away, Dean slumped, resting his head on Castiel’s chest, feeling at ease with his entire weight on top of him. Castiel held Dean in his arms and gave into his long held-back urge to run his hands through Dean’s hair. Dean purred contentedly.

“Shoulda said something a long time ago,” Dean murmured against Castiel’s skin.

“I couldn’t be sure you returned my affections,” Castiel said, still toying with Dean’s hair.

“Big damn angel afraid of rejection from a filthy hunter? That’s pretty adorable,” Dean said with a chuckle.

“I would have been distraught if you rejected me,” Castiel said, his tone serious enough that Dean lifted his head to look him in the eye. 

“Well, I would be pretty stupid if I did. And now we all know that Sam is the stupid brother, not me,” Dean said with a triumphant smirk. “Hey, you think you’re going to come with us on more hunts in the future? That holy fire trick could come in handy.”

“I’ll come when I can…” Castiel said, and then added more slowly. “Do you only want me to come when you need help hunting?”

“Now who’s being stupid?” Dean said, words softening as he planted a soft kiss on Castiel’s lips. “I want you to come all the time. In fact, wouldn’t mind you coming again right now,” he added, shifting his hips and making Castiel moan quietly. 

“I hope Sam doesn’t expect an early start tomorrow,” Castiel said, starting to squirm underneath Dean.

“That big freak won’t even have the nerve to knock in the morning,” Dean said with a chuckle, rolling his hips again to hear Castiel’s sweet noises. “So I’m gonna stay up all night with you, and maybe sometime in the afternoon we can get to driving.”

“Dean, that isn’t very considerate-” Castiel said, but he was cut off and there was no more talk about Sam or driving or waking up in the morning. They had better things to do with their voices.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the polong is real Malaysian folklore. However, in typical Supernatural fashion, I took some liberties with the original mythos to suit my needs.


End file.
